


The Man Who Would Be King

by Flames_and_Jade



Series: Only One For Me - Peterick OTP Prompts Repository [4]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Art, Europe, Fluff, Humor, Introspection, M/M, Michelangelo - Freeform, One-Shot, Patrick being self-conscious, Pete being encouraging, Save Rock and Roll Era, Touring, cuteness, museum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-29 09:22:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8484004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flames_and_Jade/pseuds/Flames_and_Jade
Summary: While on tour in Europe during the Save Rock and Roll era, Patrick drags Pete to the Galleria dell'Accademia to see Italy's most famous art.Pete isn't a huge fan of classical artwork...but he is a fan of Patrick. So he goes.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little one-shot that came to me as I was perusing tumblr, and I stayed up way too late writing it. I felt like writing something a bit silly and schmoopy and not at all serious. I'm going to put the OTP prompt at the end notes, otherwise it'll give it away a bit =) Thanks for reading, friends! <3

 

 

Classical art galleries weren’t really Pete’s thing. He wasn’t against it, per se, but stuffy people sitting in fancy clothes that haven’t been fashionable in 400 years didn’t speak to him. Patrick, on the other hand, loved it…which totally made sense. Everything Patrick did was restrained, refined, artistic. There was nothing about him that was brash. 

 

That’s why, on their European tour, Pete is standing in some museum in Italy that has a name too long for him to pronounce, following Patrick around as he flits from one masterpiece to another gasping at their beauty. 

 

He stops in front of a pastoral scene by somebody named… _Botticelli._ He stands with his hands clasped under his chin, eyes floating around the scene like fireflies dancing on a breeze. Pete comes up next to him and squints at the canvas. _Huh,_ he thinks, _trees._

 

Patrick grabs his hand and pulls him through the ornate archway and into the next room, chattering a blue streak about _realism_ and _impressionistic influences_ and _capturing the light in the shadows._ Turning the corner, Patrick stops short, Pete narrowly avoiding running into him, as the room’s sole exhibit is revealed. 

 

Michaelangelo’s _David_ stands as perfect and imposing as he’d ever heard it to be. Pete glances over the sculpture, and is impressed. It’s bigger than he’d imagined—his mind helpfully supplied _that’s what she said!—_ and he couldn’t hold back the snicker. Patrick flashed a glare at him, before releasing his arm to start a slow circle around the statue. 

 

Twenty minutes later, he was still staring, and Pete was bored. He ambled over to Patrick and tugged at his arm like a five year old. “Dude, come on. There’s like…fifty more rooms or something. We’re gonna miss the rest of it if we stay here all day.” Patrick threw gave him a wry grin, because they both knew that Pete wouldn’t shed a single tear over not seeing anything else in the museum other than the cafeteria…but he went without comment. They looked at the rest of the artwork, went in the giftshop and bought a fridge magnet, and Pete started thinking about what he wanted for dinner—a burger sounded good, but one doesn’t eat a burger in Italy. Duh. He pulled his phone out and began searching for the highest-rated eateries in the area, and after a bit of scrolling found a place called _Benellini’s_ that apparently had the best pizza in Italy. 

 

“Hey, I think I found a good place for…” He trailed off as he looked around the tiny gift shop for his companion. Patrick was nowhere to be found. Rolling his eyes, he went back to his phone.

 

4:32pm < _i swear u vanished like the genie in aladdin. where r u? >_

 

4:33pm _< @ the David.>_

 

 _Well there’s the shock of the day._ Pete thought wryly as he made his way back through the exhibits to the large area where the statue was housed. It was still relatively crowded, even this close to closing time, so he wound through looking for Patrick’s hat. Eventually he spotted him, sitting on a bench, just staring up at the sculpture, and he looked so enraptured he decided to just let him soak it up for the remaining 25 minutes the museum was open. Leaning against the wall, he took in his best friend, the love of his life, and the most stubborn person he’d ever met. 

 

Patrick was skinnier now then he had been before the hiatus. His face had angles that it hadn’t before, and it wasn’t all together unpleasant. He knew that the weight he had lost had resulted in his health improving drastically, so he was thankful. But it would be a lie to say that he didn’t miss how squishy Patrick used to be. Pete grinned at his attire—Patrick had always worn what he wanted, and refused to listen to advice on the contrary. Their styles couldn’t have been more different, but at the same time they somehow still wore each others clothes. Patrick was wearing one of Pete’s button ups, but had covered it with his favorite black sweater and had wrapped a burgundy and black scarf around his neck. His hair was back to it’s natural color, and the beanie pulled over his head was stretched out enough to make it comfortable. 

 

In short, he was still the most gorgeous person Pete had ever seen. More than anything, it was his smile, the way it lit up his face and made his eyes sparkle. That was the thing that took Pete’s breath away with such regularity…especially when that smile was turned on him. That smile was the same when Patrick had crazy sideburns and cut his own hair, when he weighed a lot or a little, when he had bleach-blonde hair and wore fingerless gloves or when he wore trucker caps and too-big hoodies. It was just one of the things that Pete loved about Patrick….on top of his amazing voice, ridiculous love of trivia, obsession with tea, incredible cuddles, bitchy perfectionism, heart of gold…the list went on and on. 

 

Most of the people had filtered out now, but Patrick still hadn’t noticed him, totally wrapped up in his staring contest with the marble statue. Pete detached himself from the wall and ambled over, sitting down and resting his head on Patrick’s shoulder. 

 

“He’s so perfect.” His voice was soft, reverent. 

 

“Yeah, it’s pretty crazy.” Pete knew that he should attempt to sound more interested, but he was getting hungry and a little bored. 

 

“I wish….” Patrick’s words hung in the air, waiting like ripe peaches about to fall under their own weight. Pete hummed at him to finish his sentence. Patrick stared for a moment longer and shook his head and stood. “Nothing. Let’s go.” 

 

After the number of years that they’d been together—as friends, as bandmates and as lovers—Pete had gotten fairly good at knowing when Patrick was thinking something that he didn’t want to say, but that he probably needed to get out. This was one of his times, so Pete grabbed Patrick’s hand and pulled him back to the bench. “You wish what, babe?” He grinned. “If you wish you could have it, I can see what I can do to convince them I’m a very trustworthy rockstar.” 

 

Shaking his head with a huffing sigh, Patrick looked back at the statue. “I just…it’s dumb and I know what you’re going to say.” 

 

“Well then don’t keep me waiting, let me get to it. You know I love to talk.” 

 

Finally looking away from the statue, Patrick looked down at his feet, fingers playing with the fringe of his scarf. “I just wish I looked more like that.” 

 

Pete stared at Patrick for a long moment, his mind whirling with a hundred responses, and also bitterly cursing that there wasn’t some sort of mind-transference technology available yet. If only Patrick knew he had _literally_ been standing against the wall and ogling him not two minutes before…Since he couldn’t exactly show Patrick what he’d been thinking, he settled for the next best thing. Turning, he pulled the younger man’s hands into his own and dipped his head, trying to catch Patrick’s eyes.

 

“Babe, look at me.” He waited until Patrick dragged his eyes away from the tiled floor and looked up. His eyes looked green in the late afternoon light, and Pete wondered distantly if he could find a time machine somewhere in this damn place to go back and find Michelangelo and get him to come to the present to sculpt one Patrick Stump just to prove his point. “You’re seriously the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. I was literally _just_ leaning against the wall thinking about it. I don’t want you to look like that dude…you’re fucking perfect exactly like you are.” 

 

A faint blush suffused Patrick’s cheeks, and he smiled gently. “I knew you were going to say that. Why can’t you let me just wallow in my insecurities?” 

 

Pete shook his head and stood, pulling him up to stand with him. “Because that’s my job. Besides,” He wrapped an arm around Patrick’s waist and pulled him close, pressing a kiss to his cheek before he whispered the kicker in his ear. “You’re dick is _way_ bigger than his, _and_ you sure as hell know how to use it.” 

 

A sharp elbow darted out to catch him in the side, but without any real force behind it. Patrick was blushing furiously now, glaring. “Pete! That’s so—no, I can’t believe you just—are you seriously—“ 

 

Dipping his head, Pete kissed Patrick, pressing his lips onto the other’s like he was pulling oxygen from his lungs. Patrick didn’t move, but his posture softened just a bit, and his lips were the most delightful color when he finally pulled away. Pete grinned at his boyfriend, thrilled to see that he was breathing just a hair faster than he had been a few moments ago. 

 

Pete tucked Patrick’s hand in the crook of his elbow. “Well then stop saying dumb things about my boyfriend, alright?” He lowered his head conspiratorially. “And let me be the judge on whose package is better, okay? I’m pretty sure I know what I’m talking about.” 

 

The blush was still there, and he was trying to scowl…but Pete could see the small, satisfied grin spreading across Patrick’s face, and knew that he had won.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: 
> 
> Imagine your OTP goes to an art museum.  
> “That statue’s way more ripped than I am.”  
> “Yeah but your dick is bigger.”
> 
> Source: http://otp-lifestyle.tumblr.com/post/152072171501/thinkaboutyourotp-imagine-your-otp-goes-to-an


End file.
